Three Quarter Wolf
by Nomis the Nommer
Summary: "When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me" the wolf-man answers, his tone strained yet void of emotion. "'Positivity' just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" I nervously answer. What if Scott wasn't quick enough when Derek was shot by Kate Argent? Slash. Slow burn Sterek. Rated M because of goreful descriptions and possible smut later.


Hi guys! This is my first ever fanfiction... Ever.. So be gentle x.x

DISCLAIMER: I do not claim any rights over Teen Wolf, all rights reserved the shows respective owners.

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I am standing in Deaton's veterinary clinic. With a just slightly—No, wait, scratch that, definitely psychotic werewolf. A werewolf with a bullet in his arm. A bullet with wolfsbane in it. And _apparently_ wolfsbane is poison to werewolves! Fantastic!

"Okay.. You know, that really doesn't look like anything some Echinacea and a good night's sleep couldn't take care of!" I attempt in mock positivity. It really does look like he is dying. Hard.

"When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me" the wolf-man answers, his tone strained yet void of emotion. He is obviously fighting to stay focused enough to think – hell, even stay conscious!

"'Positivity' just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" I nervously answer. He is looking worse by the minute. This is not good.

"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time – Last resort." He says, rummaging through the cupboard he's resting on, with a the occasional groan here and there.

"Which is?" I answer, with a raised brow. Something tells me I'm not gonna like this.

"You're gonna cut off my arm." He answers, in the same strained and emotionless tone, all while pulling forth a saw. The kind of saw doctors use. A saw for _people_. Needless to say, my face drains of blood completely. I can barely stay on my feet.

"What?" I ask, hoping I heard it all wrong.

"You.. Are gonna cut off my arm." He snarls. I flinch slightly – and I don't know if it's from realization or fear of the menacing wolf-man.

"Oh, my god! What if you bleed to death?!" I can already feel it boiling deep inside me. The panic.

"It'll heal if it works" the man reasons, his knees starting to budge under the massive torso. He has an elastic rubber band in his hand. When did he grab that, even?

"Ugh. Look – I don't know if I can do this." I answer, faking calmness – even though I am very positively starting to freak the absolute fuck out on the inside -, as he creates a tourniquet above the bullet-wound.

"Why not?" He asks, bluntly. I deadpan for a second, unable to scramble together a sentence, but soon regain my sharp sense of ironic retorts.

"Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially THE BLOOD!" I nearly scream by the end, frantically waving around the saw. Wait, when did I end up with it in my hand?

"You faint at the sight of blood?" Groans, with a raised eyebrow. _The hell?_ Of course I faint at the sight of blood – WHEN IT'S SEEPING OUT AN ARM.

"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm?!" I point both hands – one holding the shiny sawblade – towards the wounded arm.

"All right, fine.." he begins, and I can feel relief washing over me, but it's definitely short lived. Too short lived. "How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head." He continues in a snarl.

My brows furrow, as I look at his all too pained face. He doesn't seem very scary right now. I mean, he can barely stand? "Okay, you know what? I'm so not buying your threats anym—" And there's his face right in mine, and his good hand grasping my shirt, as he yanks me in. He still has it. "Oh, my god. Okay! All right, bought! Sold! I'll do it, I'll do it!"

Slowly his threatening face loses its menacing feature and he staggers a bit. "What? What are you doing?" I start, as he slowly starts leaning away from me, his grip loosening. And there it is – he's vomiting blood! Black gooey blood! "Holy God! What is that?!"

"It's my body – Trying to heal itself." He answer, fighting to stay standing.

"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it!" I answer, flailing my arms around. I glance at the blood again, and I can feel the bile swelling up in the back of my throat.

"Now.." He breathes painfully, as he looks up at my very confused and dreading face, "You gotta do it now." He finishes as he lifts his arm on top of the metallic operations table.

I sink thickly, and the feeling of barfing seems dangerously close, as I look at the purplish skin, "Look, honestly, I don't think I can—"

"Just do it!" He yells. For once, I detect an emotion aside from deep anger in him. He's desperate. He's relying on me to do this.

Attempting to seem frightened rather than pitiful of him, I answer "Oh, my god! Okay, okay! Oh, my god.. Alright.. Okay… Here we go.."

I slowly put the heavy cold tool up to the arm. I'm holding my breath. I don't hear anything. I keep my eyes closed, and just press the blade into the flash of the struggling man in front of me. I can feel it as I push the button. The sensation of cutting and the sensation of things breaking. Nevertheless, I don't hear it. I don't see it. After what seems like an eternity of sawing, I start to feel my t-shirt clinging to me. A hot sticky mess is causing the fabric to hug my body.

Shortly after this realization, I hear the sound of metal scraping against metal, and all sounds rush back over me. I hear the pained baritone screams of my patient. I hear the dripping sound of liquid hitting tiled floors. I release my death grip on the saw, and it comes to a halt and drops onto the table. I feel a strange post-mortem like resistance in my finger joints as I do so.

Slowly, I open my eyes, and I see everything. My eyes begin to water, and the telltale sensation of my entire insides wanting out of me engulfs me completely. And I faint.


End file.
